Wednesday Morning
by planless
Summary: After Harry Potter has failed and the Dark Lord has taken over, Lucius Malfoy, leader of the resistance, finds himself somewhere in Scandinavia while trying to outrun his pursuers. And just as everything is going downhill, things are finally looking up again when he runs into someone he hasn't seen in quite a while... [OS]


**WEDNESDAY MORNING**

* * *

Lucius draws in a ragged breath and leans against the trunk of a massive oak. There is a burning pain in his chest, a white hot sting that is making it difficult to breathe. His gaze roams tiredly over the sight before him. Trees, trees in abundance. He can't stand the sight anymore, so he squeezes his eyes shut. All he wants right now is a warm bath, a nice dinner, maybe even some wine. The things that once seemed so natural now occur to him like a distant pleasure, never to be reached. Somewhere in the distance, he can hear a flock of birds taking flight.

Opening his eyes again, Lucius takes another look around. The trees are still there. With a fierce scowl on his drawn face he pushes off the oak and resumes his hurried run, which is is really more of a tired jog. His feet feel as if they weigh tons, and every step hurts. All he wants is to lie down and sleep, but he's come so far. He can't give up now.

So he continues on his way, a way of which he doesn't even know if it's still there, or if maybe he has already lost it long ago and just keeps running for the sake of it. He doesn't know and he doesn't care. His mind, fogged with exhaustion, only tells him to keep moving, and so he does.

Every so often, he thinks he can hear voices in the distance, but maybe it is just something his overly sensitive senses have produced; he isn't sure. He _has_ become more paranoid over the last couple weeks. Nevertheless it spurs him on, and he forces his aching legs to carry him even further, deeper into the forest.

After some minutes he notices the voices have grown in volume, and he knows that he hasn't imagined them. He is too disoriented to pinpoint whom they belong to; all he knows is that he has to get away. He quickens his pace, but it doesn't help much. His pursuers have come closer, so close he can hear them breaking through the underbrush that grows thick in this part of the forest.

It won't be long now. A matter of minutes, and then they'll have him. He knows it, and they know it, too, and it is the reason they take their sweet, sweet time in rounding him up. They have been chasing him for weeks, tiring him out, testing how far they can push him until he can't cope anymore. They know he can't go anywhere without his wand, so they've let him slip away a few times, but now it's over.

He doesn't have any energy left, and he doubts they have the patience to keep this up for much longer. But he won't go down without a fight, because he is a Malfoy, and Malfoys don't cower.

Drawing in one ragged breath after the other, he forces his body up a small hill, and down the other side. At the bottom of the steep slope he can see a meadow, covered in soft grass and pretty flowers, and for a moment the lush colours cause something in his mind to stir. It doesn't seem right. He peers hardly at the peaceful scene beneath him and suddenly his right foot slips and he shouts and tumbles down the hillside.

The world blurs together in a whirl of colours, and when his body comes to rest among the flowers of the meadow all he can do is lie there, every bit of strength gone from his body. In the heavy silence that ensues he can hear voices shouting words, but his mind is too feverish to make them out. Every muscle burns, and suddenly a cool handy touches his forehead. He flinches, searching the grey skies above him, too tired to even turn his head. A pale face appears in his line of vision. Brown eyes stare down at him, the dark brows that are shadowing them knitting in obvious worry.

"Mr Malfoy?" someone asks. He doesn't answer but continues to stare blindly at those huge eyes above him, even as the voices that have been haunting him for the past weeks drift down the hill.

"Where did he go?" "He can't be far." "The trace disappears here."

The woman who is bending over him looks up to where his pursuers are undoubtedly standing atop the hill ridge. He wants to close his eyes while he waits for them to see him, but he finds that he can't. Instead, he only blinks lazily and continues to stare up, now at the woman's exposed jawline instead of her face. She has a nice jaw, he thinks distantly, frowning at the pale skin. Pretty and clean. How weird. He can't remember the last time he has been clean.

Despite his foggy mind, Lucius notices that the woman next to him doesn't seem scared. A bit tense, maybe, but otherwise she appears calm and collected. Is she working with them? Will she hand him over?

He tries to move and a low groan rips from his throat. The woman looks down at him in alarm and in a sudden moment of clarity, he is able to place her face. _Granger._ He wants to say her name, but all that rushes past his chapped lips is a pained breath.

"You're hurt, Mr Malfoy," she whispers, and runs her cool fingers down the side of his face. "Let's get you inside."

She rises to her feet and takes out her wand, and after a quick wave with it he feels himself being lifted up in the air. His head lolls back, and even if everything is upside down and swimming before his eyes, he can make out the vague shapes of a quaint little house in the middle of the meadow.

The last thing he hears before they cross the threshold and everything grows dark are the voices that have grown distant again.

"We need to backtrack and split up if necessary. We can't possibly have lost him."

 _How very curious,_ he thinks, and then the mighty and powerful Lucius Malfoy faints for the very first time in his life.

* * *

Someone is tapping him. Lucius frowns a displeased frown that seems native to members of his family, and turns his face away. The tapping continues, this time on his cheek instead of his forehead. He sighs in annoyance, then pauses. There is an odd weight located on his chest.

With a quiet groan, he turns his head back and forces his eyes open. Peering down his nose he is met with the sight of two round orange eyes and a pair of fuzzy ears. Next thing he knows, the cat slaps its paw down on his mouth.

Before he can do anything about it, two slender hands pick up the furry beast. "Peeve," a voice says in hushed tones. "Leave him alone."

He can't help but chuckle at the silly name, and his laughter soon turns into a coughing fit. Suddenly her cool hands are back. They help him sit up, they rub small circles on his back, then they lift a coup of - _something_ to his lips. He takes it from her and downs the lukewarm liquid in three greedy gulps. Without spilling anything, of course, because he is a Malfoy and Malfoys don't spill their drink. Or anything else, for that matter.

As soon as his throat feels a little less like dry parchment, he turns his head to look at her.

"Peeve?" he asks sneeringly. Granger doesn't seem to mind. "My pet," she nods, and takes the cup of him. "Nice pun," he says, and for a second the serious expression on her face turns into something akin to mirth.

"Thanks," she smiles, a twinkle in her eyes. "I came up with it myself." "You would," he mutters quietly under his breath. She hears him, but doesn't seem to care. Placing the cup on the small bedside table, she walks over to where a merry fire is dancing away in the open fireplace. From a cast-iron frame a small pot dangles over the flame, and if the smell is anything to go by it contains broth. _Wonderful, delicious smelling broth._

She ladles some of it into a ceramic bowl and brings it over to him. He takes the offered food with a thankful nod and tucks in. All too soon, his spoon is scraping over the bottom of the dish. With a small grin, Granger brings him some more.

This time, he eats slower, savouring the marvellous flavours, and accepts the piece of bread she offers him with a quiet "Thank you." The woman brings over a chair to sit next to him, propping her feet up on the bed frame. His eyes fall on the ridiculous, green and pink striped socks she's wearing and he frowns in distaste. When she notices, she wriggles her toes at him. He shakes his head.

While slowly eating the broth, he takes in his surroundings. They seem to be in a spacious one-room house, at least he can only see one door. Tucked away in one corner, he spots a small and surprisingly professional looking potions lab. Another corner holds a large table that is currently buried under loads and loads of tomes and parchment. She seems to be conducting study of some kind. Next to the door, there are a few clothes pegs, and hanging from one of them he can see his torn and tattered travelling cloak and scarf. In front of the fireplace, there is a big wingback, covered in some Scottish tartan. It looks old and worn down, but comfy.

And everything is covered in books. Every last inch of wall seems to hold some sort of shelf or book case to stack and cram books on, and every last one of them seems to have been read multiple times. _I guess some things don't change after all,_ he thinks.

Lucius notes that he currently seems to be occupying the only bed, which finally causes his good manners to kick in.

"Miss Granger," he says after he clears his throat. "I thank you for your hospitality." She nods and takes the empty bowl from his limp hands. "Would you like a cup of tea?" He nods gracefully and starts nibbling on what's left of his bread while he watches her get up and walk over to a small, round table next to the fireplace. On it, there is a bulbous teapot, blackened from what must have been years upon years of use. She removes the lid and peers into it, then, with a small frown, waves her hand and soon there is steam curling into the air.

She pours him a cup and he gratefully wraps his clammy fingers around it, relishing in the heat.

"Wandless magic?" he asks, and carefully blows on his tea before taking a small sip. He can't really say he's surprised. Granger has always been a studious character, and he supposes that it was only a matter of time before she would begin to dabble in higher magic. But then again, he can't really be sure how long she's been dabbling by now.

"Yes," she nods. "I've been using it for quite a while. But sometimes I prefer using my wand, actually. It gives me a sense of normality." "How so?" he asks with feigned interest, even though he couldn't be less interested. She smiles at him sadly. "It always makes me think of the time of my first years at Hogwarts. Everything was so much easier back then."

Lucius frowns at her. She thinks she has it hard? She hasn't been on the run for years, scraping up what's left of the opposition, and shaping this organisation into what could possibly, in a very distant future, turn out to be a successful coup d'état.

When he speaks again, he tries to not let his dismay show. "So is this what you've been up to all this time? Hiding away?" he asks and casually waves a hand around her modest home. "You're living like the proverbial witch." She smiles at this. "It is more than it looks like, Mr Malfoy, believe me."

She doesn't elaborate and he doesn't ask. Instead he blurts out the question that has been burning on his mind ever since he woke up in her bed. "Why didn't they notice us?" "You mean Dolohov and his merry group of friends?" He nods. "Because they can't."

"They should have," he says with a deep frown on his forehead. "The Dark Lord has come up with some device that disturbs most wards. At the very least, they would have seen a flimmer in the air surrounding this area." She cocks her head and looks at him with a weird expression on her face. "I suppose that is how they found you?"

"How do you know I'm not one of them?" he counters. "Besides the fact they were clearly searching for you?" she asks, and then points at his left side. "I have seen your arm." He tenses up. Clutching at the spot where the Dark Mark used to be, he feels a sudden wave of hostility towards the woman sitting next to him. Nobody is allowed to look at this arm, not since he blasted the wretched tattoo off it. It is proof of his sins and the burden is his, and his alone to bear. To his immense relief she doesn't pry though, and so he repeats his original question. This time, she answers.

"There are many different forms of magic, Mr Malfoy," she tells him. With a dry smile, that looks almost as if she doesn't know wether to be proud or embarrassed, she holds up her left hand. Only now does he notice that half of her pinky finger is missing. The scar tissue is old and pale and tells him that this injury lies years back. "In this particular case, I used blood magic to keep the meadow and everything on it undetectable."

Lucius stares at her, long and hard, as the wheels in his mind begin to turn. "Then you have made an error somewhere along the way, Miss Granger," he says, and recalls the moment when he has first seen the lush vegetation from atop the hill. " _In this particular case_ , to quote you, the grass is far too green on your side of the fence." The witch frowns, then shakes her head. "No, that's because of the power veins that cross here. This place is saturated with old natural magic, that's what keeps the vegetation so vivid." "Even in Scandinavia?" She smiles. "Even in Scandinavia," she nods.

"But still," Lucius insists. "You seem to have made a mistake. Why would I be here otherwise?" At his words, the frown is back on her forehead. "That's what I have been thinking about myself ever since you showed up here." She makes a small pause, as if making a split second decision, then explains with a small shrug, "My only explanation is that you are _meant_ to be here. Magic works in many mysterious ways, and this seems to be one of them." He looks at her with doubt apparent on his face, and the young witch scowls at him.

"No, I am quite positive that I did indeed _not_ make an error while setting up this barrier. I'm smart, Mr Malfoy. I don't _do_ errors." "I highly doubt that," he sneers, but his attempt at riling her up even more seems to achieve the opposite effect.

"I am very good at learning things, Mr Malfoy," she says slowly, as if tasting the words. "What there is to study, I study. I read what needs to be read, and I remember so many things that I can't even actively recall everything, it just comes flying back to me when I need it." He doesn't have the patience to listen to her self-assessment. "Your point being, Miss Granger?"

"My point is," she explains patiently. "That I excel at following directions, and for the spell that guards my property I have had very clear and detailed instructions. I can assure you that I have missed _nothing_ , because I checked it over so many times I can't even be bothered to count." She takes a small breath, then cocks her head at him. "So my initial statement still stands. You are somehow supposed to be here, and what I would like to know..." She leans forward, and the last light of the setting sun that filters through the window falls onto her eyes and makes them shine. "... is why."

She almost whispers the words, and he feels as if he can look through her illuminated eyes into that brilliant mind of hers to see the wheels turn. "I am so very flattered by your interest in me, Miss Granger, but I have more pressing matters to attend to than figuring out why your little sanctuary has decided to allow me in," he snaps and delicately sips at his tea. It seems to break whatever thought she's gotten herself wrapped up in. Blinking owlishly, she sits back on her chair and averts her eyes. He sets down the cup and looks at her.

"Speaking of pressing matters, what's your agenda? What are you even doing out here, all by yourself?" At his words, she shrugs nonchalantly and begins picking at a hole in her pale blue sweater. "I'm... researching," she says reluctantly, and it doesn't take a Malfoy to know that this doesn't even begin to describe her occupation. She seems to realise that herself, because after he has thrown her an incredulous look she smiles sheepishly.

"More like training, really." His eyes bore sharply into hers. "Training for what, exactly?" he asks snidely. "Last time I checked there wasn't anything you needed to train for, Miss Granger. You failed your friends spectacularly when you simply disappeared after Potter -" he stops himself when he sees her wince, and after a moment continues maybe a tiny bit softer, "- after the Dark Lord took over. Do you know what grievances you caused by just leaving?"

She draws herself up and glares at him indignantly. "I had to! It wasn't safe for me to stay anywhere, and it was even less safe for anyone to help me! I knew they would have wanted to, so I protected them the only way I could! And how would you know what exactly I caused when I left? You -" She pauses when she sees him stiffen, and when he sees the spark of understanding light up her eyes he knows he's doomed.

"You've worked with them! You've had contact! Tell me, how are they?! Ron, Ginny, Neville - everyone, really!" Lucius stiffens. "Miss Granger," he begins slowly, and looks searchingly at her face. "I really don't wish to be blunt, but - to put it mildly - your friends have fared considerably worse than you."

He watches as the excited spark slowly dies. It leaves her eyes dull and dark, and Lucius finds that he misses the liveliness. They sit in silence for a while, his hands clenched around the tea cup and hers fraying out the hole in her sleeve. "It was never meant to be forever," she whispers after a while, and he almost misses it. "I was meant to become stronger, and come back and help them."

Lucius can't hold back a derisive snort as her whole plan becomes clear to him. Suddenly, everything makes sense. The solitude, the tomes, the barrier -

"You wanted to save them all on your own and hog all the glory to yourself," he says coldly. As predicted, she puffs up like a pygmy puff. "This is not about glory!" she hisses. "This is about bringing down a vile being that is worth less than the dirt he walks on!" He chuckles. "I'm sure he would disagree, Miss Granger." She opens her mouth to give an undoubtedly witty retort, but he cuts in. "And you are currently planning to bring the Dark Lord and his followers to their knees all on your own? Not to mention the political tumult you'd have to wade through, assuming you were actually able to. You'd have to disassemble the base of supporters he has in Wizarding Britain, reinstate both new and old laws and politicians, you'd have to - should I stop? You look a bit pale."

Granger, who has indeed lost a bit of colour, averts her eyes, a grim look on her face. "I hadn't thought that far," she admits. He wants to make a snide comment, but the detached way she says those words makes him pause and wait to hear what she has to say next. "I always thought that, once I had done my part, others would step in to take it from there." They are burning on his tongue, the words on how little she apparently knows about wars and politics, but he swallows them down. This is just his own bitterness spilling over, and despite her hiding away when she could have helped, she doesn't deserve that. "I simply never imagined I would be around when they started to pick up the pieces."

* * *

Lucius takes a moment to let those words sink in. Stupid, ignorant, brave, suicidal Granger. Leave it to her to sacrifice herself for the sake of others. "How utterly Gryffindor," he murmurs. She only shrugs and wraps her arms around herself. "So what," he begins after an awkward pause. "Is your plan, exactly?" She shrugs again. _Very well_ , he thinks to himself. If she won't tell, then he won't pry.

"Well, since you won't tell me, let's just assume that you do, indeed, _not_ have a plan." Granger shoots him a sharp look and he holds up a hand. "However, I have a proposal that you simply cannot refuse." The witch looks weary and he can't help but feel pleased at that. She ought to be on her toes. "And what kind of proposal would this be?" she asks.

"You see, Miss Granger," he says and leans closer. Waving his around around in an airy gesture, he continues, "With your nifty little barrier around this compound, you have created something that could be of incredible value to my current venture should you agree to this." She cocks her head at him. "When you are talking about this _venture_ , what exactly do you mean? Because all I can think of right now is hiding your little pile of black marketing stocks." He chuckles. "Well, you're not completely wrong, Miss Granger. I do wish for you to hold onto something. However, it wouldn't be black marketing stocks you would be hiding." He leans closer still, despite the knowledge that she will never refuse, and lowers his voice conspiratorially. "You will provide me with a sanctuary, and I will provide you with a plan."

He can already see her eyes spark as she understands what he's aiming for. "You're leading a resistance group and want me to house them," she whispers. He can detect no reluctance whatsoever in her bearing, and yet when he nods in affirmation, she only laughs and rises from her chair.

"Ask me again tomorrow, Mr Malfoy, when you're not swathed in blankets and wearing my socks." With a frown, he wriggles out one foot from beneath the covers and indeed: he is wearing atrociously lime-yellow stockings with little mice on them. "I was going to go for the hot pink ones, but Peeve seemed to like these ones better," Granger laughs from where she is wandlessly charming his dishes clean and into a small cabinet above the fireplace. Before he can say anything, she picks up a little vial from the mantelpiece and brings it over to him.

"I think you should sleep now, Mr Malfoy. You were beyond exhausted when I brought you here, and one more nights sleep definitely won't harm you. We can talk tomorrow if you wish to."

He takes the vial from her and removes the stopper. "Where are you going to sleep?" he asks suspiciously. "I wouldn't want to keep you from your own bed." "Nonsense," she says and shakes her head. "You keep the bed, you need it more than me. Besides - " She waves a hand at the wingback which instantly elongates into a couch. "My Old Mr Wingman over here is at least as comfy."

Lucius raises an eyebrow but doesn't complain. If she won't have the bed, fine. He offered. Pondering what a strange turn his journey has taken, he knocks back the vial and rolls onto his side. Already, he can feel the potion's effects taking hold.

"Mr Wingman," he sneers sleepily. Somewhere in the background, he can hear Granger's quiet chuckle. Something jumps onto the bed and curls up against his back, and the last thing he hears before drifting into a deep and dreamless sleep is Peeve purring contentedly. _Blasted cat._

* * *

When Lucius wakes again early the next morning, it is to the sound of pots clanking together and dishes being placed upon a table. With a sleepy groan, he rolls over and cracks open one eye. Granger is pottering about the little house like a whirlwind, her hair piled on top of her head in a particularly unflattering fashion. He watches as she pushes back a stray lock of hair and tucks it up into the pile, where it seems to stick as if of its own accord. Sticking Charms, he assumes. Granger seems to be in a spring cleaning mood of sorts, at least that's what it looks like. The heavy table, buried under the load of its paperweight just the previous evening, is cleared up. Instead, now it holds two sets of dishes and a basket filled with bread. Bits and pieces of clutter that he has spotted throughout the room yesterday have been cleared away, and the crammed little house suddenly appears much more inviting to him.

Lucius discreetly checks what he is wearing - a pair of old sweatpants and a faded t-shirt - before throwing back the covers and sitting up in bed.

"Good morning, Mr Malfoy," his hostess smiles at him as soon as she notices he is awake. He pulls a face. "Please, Miss Granger, none of these faked pleasantries in the morning." She only grins at him and then points at the door. "If you are looking for the bathroom, it is right through there, first door on your lefthand side. I've laid out towels for you and things to wear, so if you want to take a shower, you're more than welcome to. I have taken the liberty of throwing away your old clothes. They were quite worn out."

"Thank you," he says with a little frown on his face. Granger nods and turns back to stirring something in a small pot over the fire.

Feeling genuinely curious as to how this tiny house can even hold as much as a foyer, Lucius gets up and steps through the door. To his surprise he finds himself in a light, open hallway from which not only one, but three doors seem to branch off. She must have charmed her house to be much bigger than it originally appeared.

He can feel himself itching to explore, but the need for a shower far outweighs his curiosity. So he opens the door to his left, fully expecting to find a small, dingy chamber with maybe a washing basin and a toilet squeezed in somewhere, and is pleasantly surprised when he finds himself in a spacious, light-flooded bathroom, fully equipped with toilet, basin, a white-tiled shower, and a copper bathtub resting on lion claws. There is a wooden rack that seems to hold towels and bathing supplies, and a full length mirror to his left completes the picture. "Miss Granger, Miss Granger," he murmurs as he enters the room and locks the door behind him. "You never cease to amaze me."

Within seconds, he has stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower. To his immense pleasure - and ever growing surprise - he finds both taps for cold and hot water. This witch seems to be far more resourceful than anyone has ever assumed.

Lucius relishes in the hot water that runs down his body and takes a lot longer than strictly necessary to scrub himself down. After so many weeks on the run, it feels good to finally be clean again.

Once he leaves the bathroom, dressed in slacks and a white shirt - he doesn't know where she got them, but the clothes fit perfectly. Granger is really starting to grow on him - he curiously decides to explore the rest of the house. Following the corridor, he opens the heavy oak door and peers through. He is met with a gush of cold air, coupled with blinding sunlight, and it takes his eyes a moment to adjust to it. Once his vision clears, he takes in the front yard of the house. There is a bench made of half-logs next to the door, and right in front of him a winding mud track that is covered in paw prints leads deeper into the forest. Blinking, he turns back into the dim corridor and backtracks to the main room. When he enters, Granger just finishes piling scrambled egg and bacon on a plate, and the sheer smell of it leaves his mouth watering.

"Miss Granger," he says as ways of greeting, and she turns around to send a big smile his way. "I'm glad to see you dressed, Mr Malfoy. I wasn't sure the clothes would fit." Waving her pan around, she asks, "Would you like breakfast?" "I would love breakfast, actually," he admits, and gracefully plops down on the bench at the table. "Where did you get the shirt? It doesn't seem to be something you would keep around just for the sake of having it." She shakes her head. "You're right, of course. I got it in a small town a few miles from here. If you're fast, it takes you about three hours to get there and back again." Lucius raises one eyebrow. "And how fast are you, exactly, Miss Granger?" "Pretty fast," she grins. He decides not to comment on this.

Granger takes a seat next next to him and pushes a plate loaded with toasted bread, bacon, and scrambled egg in his direction. He accepts it with a nod and, after she has started her own breakfast, tucks in with as much dignity as he can muster in this moment. It tastes like the most delicious thing he has ever eaten.

For a while, they eat in silence, and eventually Granger reaches across the table and pours them two cups of tea from her blackened teapot. After reaching him his, she stirs a bit of sugar into hers and blows on it, a tiny frown on her forehead. "What seems to be on your mind, Miss Granger?" he asks between to bites of bread. He watches as she thoughtfully stirs her tea, and eventually turns to look at him. "As you can probably tell, Mr Malfoy," she begins. "I am more than happy at the idea of helping you." He nods, a silent prompt for her to continue. "However, I know next to nothing about you and the sort of resistance you are leading, or what your goals are, for that matter."

Lucius scrapes the last bit of bacon off his plate and brushes his hands together. Turning to look at Granger, he meets her expectant gaze and nods. "You are right," he says slowly. "You should know what you are getting yourself into. Please, ask your questions and I will answer them the best I can." She hesitates for a second, then straightens up in her seat. "This resistance," she begins. "Are you its leader?" "I have helped bring it to life, yes," he nods. "However, I do not consider myself head of it - although many of the people I work with might tell you otherwise." She inclines her head. "Alright. Does it have a name?" "It does. Actually, I am pretty sure your friend Miss Weasley has come up with it. The Last Offence, I believe they are calling it." Granger raises an eyebrow. "Very creative," she says dryly. He only shrugs and so she continues with her questions.

"I take it that Ginny is working with you, then. Who else?" Lucius leans back and begins ticking off his fingers. "Well, the first that come to mind, really, are George Weasley and his brother, Charlie. They have been vital in hiding our various members and keeping everybody safe. A majority of them is in Romania right now, amongst them Ginevra, Miss Lovegood, Mr Longbottom, and the rest of the Weasleys - at least those who made it out of the battle unscathed." He throws her a quick look, but she doesn't interrupt. He feels a bit guilty when he sees the tears shining in her eyes, but continues nonetheless. For the next minutes, he is busy ticking off one member after the other until he's got them all listed to her satisfaction. When he finishes, she smiles a sad smile at him.

"Congratulations, Mr Malfoy. It would appear you have been quite busy." "Unlike you," he retorts somewhat harshly. Granger shakes her head. "You're giving me no credit here," she says. "While it's true that I haven't been as active as you, Mr Malfoy, I have been busy in my own right." "And what exactly would that be?" he asks scathingly and points at the many tomes covering the walls of her home. "Reading tons of books?" "Training," she answers simply and puts down her cup. "I can show you, if you'd like me to. Would you care for a quick duel?"

"I don't have a wand," he says reluctantly. "I'm afraid Dolohov made sure of that." She only shrugs. "Please, Mr Malfoy. We both know you are a brilliant wizard and fully capable of wandless magic. That being said, you could borrow mine, if you wanted to." She pulls the slender piece of vine from her belt and presents it to him on the palm of her hand.

Lucius stares at it. For over five weeks he has been wandless, and his fingers are itching to accept her offer. And yet... Granger seems to notice his reluctance. "Of course it won't work as well as your own wand would," she says. "But it should do the trick." Lucius swallows, then looks up and meets her eyes. "Right now?" he asks, and she shrugs. "If you wish to."

Banishing the last traces of reluctance from his mind, he gives a firm nod and takes the wand from her. "All right then, Mr Malfoy," she says cheerily and rises from her seat. "Please follow me." He trails after her, twirling the slender wand in his fingers, and suddenly he feels as if maybe, just maybe, things are looking up once more.

* * *

Lucius is panting. His whole body is drenched in sweat and dirt, his hair is a tangled mess, and every so often a spasm runs through the fingers he keeps wrapped firmly around Granger's wand. Despite his exhaustion, he is thrilled, as is Granger. The witch, whose hair now resembles a bird's nest more than ever, grins at him from across the pit, her eyes shining in the morning sun. He can see beads of sweat trickle down her forehead, and there is a smudge of dirt on her left cheek, but otherwise she seems mostly unharmed. "Congratulations, Miss Granger," he says between two deep breaths and straightens up. "It seems your training has indeed payed off." He really means his words. He can tell she has been going easy on him with the offensive spells because even if he's had two nights of rest, he is still feeling the strain from six weeks of trying to outrun his pursuers. Her defence, however, has been flawless, and he has managed to land far less hits than he would have liked. "You seem to have kept yourself in good shape, Mr Malfoy," she answers. "You definitely took me by surprise."

She comes over to him and when he moves to give her her wand back, she shakes her head. "Keep it as long as you're here. You might find it useful." He wants to thank her, but can't seem to find the right words, so he only nods. Granger waves a hand at them both, and within seconds they are squeaky clean once more. "This definitely comes in handy," she smiles while Lucius warily runs a hand through his long hair. It feels smooth and tangle-free. "How about you take a quick break and I clean up the breakfast mess, and then we can talk your plans over?" she asks when they enter her home. In a weird moment of camaraderie, Lucius says, "I want to help." He surprises himself with his words, possibly even more so than Granger, who looks at him with wide eyes. "It's quite all right, I can manage," she says, but he is having none of it. "Nonsense," he says and shakes his head. "All I have done so far is impose on you. Really, I want to."

He almost feels bad when he sees the hesitant smile bloom on her face, and decides to help more often in the future. "Well then," she says. "Let's do those dishes."

When they enter the main room, he holds the door for her. His reward is a huge, happy grin that makes him think about how easy to please she is. He isn't completely sure, but he feels as if something between them has changed through their duel. There seems to be a strange feeling of understanding for each other, and it makes it somewhat more pleasant to talk to her.

"Who would have thought," she says while they charm the pots and pans and dishes clean, and her voice is definitely teasing. "That the great Lucius Malfoy would be standing in my humble home, on a Wednesday morning, and clean plates? Shouldn't you be in a tower filled with books, guarded by a fierce dragon, like the proverbial wizard?" He turns to look at her. Her eyes are sparkling with amusement, and he frowns. "You seem to mistake me for the proverbial princess, Miss Granger." "Only because you hair is so pretty. It got me all confused for a second." "Whereas your hair quite fits the role of the proverbial witch. Congratulations, Miss Granger, you've got the part." She laughs and banishes the last of their now cleaned plates into a small cabinet. "Who knew you had a sense of humour?" she asks playfully. Sitting down into her wingback - Old Mr Wingman, if he remembers correctly - she waves him over and conjures a comfortable looking armchair for him.

"Have a seat, Mr Malfoy," she says. "And then we'll talk."

* * *

He ends up staying two entire weeks, and after he has explained everything and she has agreed to help, they set set about the task of adding more rooms to the house. Together, they elongate the hallway and add more and more doors to it, more bathrooms, a big kitchen, everything. With combined forces, they add two more floors, both of them underground, but the rooms on them are charmed and so filled with natural daylight. After a lot of nagging and pestering, Granger eventually agrees to Lucius moving her potions lab into a separate room, the door to which is only accessible via her room. He notices the smile on her face when she allows him free hand with the design of the newly created rooms, but he ignores it.

They work tirelessly every day, and once they are finished, the quaint little hut has been transformed into a manor of sorts, with big bay windows and heavy doors. From the outside, it still looks the same, the only thing Granger has been insistent on. He likes the idea, actually, because no one would suspect so many people hiding away in such a small house.

He leaves the interior to her, and soon the rooms are filled with comfortable bunk beds, wardrobes, and desks. God only knows where she gets all the furniture, but Lucius doesn't ask. Seeing all this come together, a place for the scattered rebels to meet and live in safety, makes him strangely enthusiastic. Maybe this can work, after all.

On the last day of his stay, Granger walks up to him with a solemn look on her face. Before she can say anything, he takes her hand and holds it tightly. "Thank you so very much, Miss Granger," he says and looks into her eyes. "I can't even begin to tell you how much this means to me." She only smiles at him nervously. "Don't mention it. I would have left in the near future anyway, and so at least I can contribute something." Her eyes light up. "Plus I get to see everyone again. I am so excited!"

He smiles warmly, nods, and gives her fingers a quick squeeze before letting go. "Now, about the barrier," she begins, and pulls a small knife from her pocket. "It is not exactly dark magic, and you can enter whenever I invite you to, however I have to do so every single time. Now, it would be much easier if you simply payed a tribute to gain entry. The barrier is focused on me, so if you share my blood, it'll know you are welcome and let you in." She cuts her palm and extends the knife to him. After a moment of consideration, Lucius nods. He offers her his hand and allows her to pull the blade over his skin. A sharp pain shoots up his arm, and he flinches. Granger throws him an apologising look. She holds her hand over his and he watches as their blood mixes together. When the first scarlet drops fall from his palm and touch the ground, he feels a ripple go through him. The air seems to warp and for a split second, he can see the barrier, a pale red dome of shimmering light. The moment is gone as soon as it has come, but Lucius feels that something within him has changed. He is now tied to the witch standing before him, and when he looks at her and sees her astonished features, he knows that she feels it, too. "I hadn't anticipated this," she says slowly and takes a step back.

Lucius feels a headache coming on. He wants to think about this, about what it means, but bringing everyone here takes precedence, so he forces it back. Before he leaves, he takes Granger's still bleeding hand and heals the cut with a quick flick of her wand, then he treats his own wound. He sees her eyes follow the movement, and smiles in what he hopes to be reassurance. "I will take good care of it." The witch blinks and tears her eyes from the slender stick. "I know you will," she says with a little smile of her own. Lucius holds her gaze for a moment, then gives a court nod and an indicated bow.

"See you again, Miss Granger," he says. He can feel her eyes follow him as he steps out of the barrier. Suddenly, he feels cold, as if he as left the warming presence of a homey fire. Taking out one of the many portkeys he has prepared over the last weeks, he lifts Granger's wand and points it at the pebble. Over his shoulder, he meets her searching eyes for one last time, then activates the portkey and, with a familiar tug behind his navel, is whisked away to god knows where.

* * *

 _Hello there!  
_ _Just to make this clear: This is a one-shot. I do, in no way, intend to turn this into a multichaptered fanfiction._

 _I haven't even thought this story through, but I was really sick and needed an outlet, so I started this._

 _Now it's finished and it might very well be the longest chapter I've ever written._

 _Hope you like it!  
If you're into Mad Max, btw, you're welcome to check out my other one-shot, **Waterbringer,** or, if you're into Maleficent, I did a couple onceshots for her and Diaval, too._

 _See you!_

 _Love,_

 _planless_


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